The photograph above depicts a series of stone tablets in Shawan Ancient Village (沙湾古镇) erected during the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644). The 9-foot monuments were placed in the town square to commemorate the high marks of local citizens who participated in the Imperial Examination. With its first debut during the Sui Dynasty around 605, the Chinese Imperial Exam became the primary means by which administrative officials were elected to serve in the state bureaucracy. For those who may have lacked an interest in politics, the exam was also a way to improve one’s status in society— no matter how poor of a background a man came from, his level of intellect as demonstrated by his performance on the examination could win him respect and honor within his local community or even the nation at large. The Imperial Examination witnessed various alterations throughout each dynastic period but remained the primary means for social mobility until its termination in 1905.

By the time of the Ming Dynasty, the tests generally lasted between 24 and 72 hours. Test-takers sat in isolated examination rooms where they re-wrote entire ancient texts and poems from memory. The content of the test initially included the “Six Arts”– arts, music, arithmetic, writing, and knowledge of the rituals and ceremonies in both public and private life— before expanding to include the “5 Studies”— military strategy, civil law, revenue and taxation, agriculture and geography, and the Confucian classics. The examination content did not vary across regions and thus served to reinforce a nationwide consensus on Chinese cultural values and promoted a harmonious, unified empire.

On average, no more than 5% of test takers scored well enough to receive titles of merit. Some men spent their entire lives in preparation only to return home time and again without a trace of recognition. The Chinese Imperial Exam is credited by historians as being the first standardized testing system in the world based solely on merit. The exam has also contributed to China’s consistent emphasis on education, which remains strikingly evident in the unparalleled respect granted to teachers in Chinese society today.

The farther I verge beyond the warm waters of academia, the more evident the importance of blogs– and cultural blogs, in particular– becomes. After spending four years at Brown University, one of the most open-minded 143 acre plots of land in the world, my attitude towards unknown cultures or stereotypes changed from being naturally judgmental to honestly curious. Rhode Island, after all, maintains a kind of quirky love for individual freedom after going down in history as the first state to declare independence from Britain and the first center of religious and political tolerance in the 17th century.

My Chinese coworkers often ask what sets Brown apart from other Ivies or colleges in the U.S., and above all, I say, that its students, professors, and campus culture is one of the most “宽容” or accepting. I’m not claiming a lack of social cliques– exclusive groups of likeminded people arise no matter what the environment– I’m talking about an overall vibe, whether it be the diverse perspectives covered in lectures, the ridiculous traditions (naked donut run, SPG), or even the way kids dress around campus, that vitalizes a spirit of individuality and in turn reinforces a necessary acceptance of that which is different, foreign, or initially unsettling. Once upon a time, religions used to encourage acceptance among all people, but somewhere along the road, that ideal was lost amidst petty political fights over abortion, marriage law, and immigration.

I came to China in 2012 with a straightforward goal: to do whatever I can to increase understanding between China and the U.S. People call me crazy. Literally. An elderly neighbor once asked, kindly, if I had a mental illness and thus decided to move to China. Friends, coworkers, and general acquaintances of my parents constantly give them grief about their daughter’s decision to move to China and date a Chinese man. They say things like, “Chinese students only come to the U.S. to steal our ideas, bring them back to the mainland and COPY, COPY, COPY. Why would your daughter work to help Chinese steal spots in our most prestigious academic institutions?” Even my own friends poke fun, asking how my Chinese lover is possibly “capable” or if I “throw fortune cookies” in large crowds so that Chinese scatter and clear a path for me to walk. These jokes are cruel, overflowing with stereotypes, and frankly, racist. It’s 2014, and yet to me, many Americans’ vision of China is no better than it was towards Japan in the ’70’s and ’80s, when counterpart businesses in Japan were making major inroads into U.S. markets.

Yeah, the New York Times has a PhD in reporting on China’s negative air quality, human rights abuses, corruption, underdeveloped legal system– the works. Yet I challenge that politicized company to explain the bizarre happiness that persists among those who are worst off in Chinese society, or to understand the incredibly complex tapestry that lies behind some of the world’s most loyal, unshakable relationships in China. See, a culture isn’t like an app that you spend 15 minutes to “get the hang of”. A culture is something that you spend a lifetime trying desperately to understand, and then some. Heck, it wasn’t until after moving to China that I started to see my own culture in a new light. We are continually blinded by conflicting information, a perpetually transformative present, and an infinite sea of perspectives. The key, then, is to go out and experience the world for yourself.

Humans are imperfect. Our pursuit to objectively transmit information is inherently restricted by the fact that we have natural opinions, agendas, and, well, jobs to uphold. There’s no need to point fingers, yet we cannot keep tricking ourselves into assuming we know it all. We need to be more willing to identify and admit the knowledge that we still lack. It’s just as impossible to describe something as complex as “culture” in words, for example, as it is to capture a complete moment in time, what with sights, smells, tastes, sounds, and feelings. Thus, the “resources” that we use to understand the world– whether they be newspapers, magazines, documentaries, or even academic research– are helpful but incomplete representations of reality.

To me, then, the only way to form true opinions of the world is through personal experience, and even then, those opinions almost instantly expire, as the present is merely a flash in time.

First-hand experiences that allow us to interact with other cultures offer the best opportunities for untainted informational exchange. This includes extended travel, frequent conversations with classmates, coworkers, or friends from diverse backgrounds, and, most importantly, a persistent desire to listen.

In the name of one of Lu Xun’s greatest literary works, I’d like to take up a second “call to arms”– a call to listen, to think, and to accept.

This past week we took a few days off from class and ventured to Xi’an (西安), a 13 hour train ride west of Beijing. Most people recognize this city for its Terracotta Army (兵马俑), an array of stone soldiers and horses built for the first Qin emperor of China around 200 BC.

Skipping ahead though- because you know I’m never as interested in museums as one would expect– this vaca was insanely, crazy good for other reasons. Today I have room for story number one of two:

Hopefully you’ve heard a little about the recent feud between China and Japan which started on Sept. 8th when Japan detained a Chinese fishing-boat captain near a set of disputed islands in the East China Sea. Since then, the historic tension between the two countries has worsened, both heightening Chinese nationalism and making our time abroad infinitely more interesting. On Saturday we were lucky enough to stumble across one of many anti-Japanese protests erupting around the country. We had been leisurely wandering the streets to find a park and get in a round of mahjong when a wave of marching chaos descended upon us. Three hours later, there were more people crowding the main roads than vehicles, and the bus that had previously held the intention to drop us off at the train station by 7 pm was completely out of options. Instead, the whole lot of us– 60 ACC students with luggage draped across every limb of our bodies– maneuvered 2 miles on foot through infamous China traffic to catch our ride home.

Definitely check out the video below. But also notice that while protesting Japan was important to most of these young people, taking photos of foreigners was a close second… if not obvious first.

First ladies rock the socks off countries. Eleanor Roosevelt, Jackie Kennedy, Hillary Clinton, and Michelle Obama go down in history not for silent poise but for their relentless voice. As China welcomes a new president to lead the country through problems of poverty, pollution, and corruption, you may struggle to conjure up the face of the man who now governs almost 1.6 billion people, not to mention his wife’s. Ironically, most people first knew of President Xi Jinping as “the husband of that famous singer”, Peng Liyuan. China’s first lady just happens to be one of the most respected folk singers of her time, and undoubtedly one of the most well-known vocalists in Chinese history.

Peng first gained recognition from her performances on CCTV’s New Year’s Gala, where she almost always sang the finale, ending the show on a high note. She joined the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) vocal troop in 1980 when she was only 18— a prestigious position for any talented artist looking for a secure opportunity to develop a long-term career in the arts. Peng is often categorized as a “folk” singer to the extent that she sings about ethnic or rural Chinese themes, tuning in to the sentiments of rural citizens. She is highly respected by the Chinese populace, and is currently president of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Institute of the Arts, one of the country’s top art universities.

President Xi and Peng Liyuan have been married for over 25 years.

This year, Peng chose to step out of the limelight as first lady and opted not to perform at the annual New Year’s Gala. As her husband trudges onto the diplomatic battlefield, Peng appears to be carving a political road for herself as well, recently joining the 11th National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference. Still, it is Peng’s grand presence on stage that has won the hearts of families nationwide and forged a bond with citizens that may potentially shield the couple from political criticism later on.

Roll up those taxi windows, drag your bags through security… this only comes every ten years. Beijing’s bitter wind welcomed 2270 delegates yesterday to shine their shoes and take their seats in a room booked for the “18th National Congress”. While the U.S. lets out its breath to enjoy another four years under Obama’s leadership, China prepares itself for a new president and premier (7 of the 9 current Politburo Standing Committee members are retiring this year). Xi Jinping, the likely candidate to replace President Hu Jintao, emphasized four main questions to be addressed at this year’s conference, namely: What flag will we wave? What path will we follow? And in what state of mind? To continue advancing towards what kind of goals? (我们党将举什么旗、走什么路、以什么样的精神状态、朝着什么样的目标继续前进) Specific, I know. Citizens wait eagerly to see what solutions the committee generates for problems like insufficient health care, inflated real estate, and the growing gap between the rich and poor. As news stations flash snippets of animated discussions over round mahogany tables, the mysterious lure of the national government grows in the eyes of the people. Local and provincial governments may be corrupt or unfair, but loyalty towards the national government is a tradition that stretches back thousands of years, born from the people’s innocent dependency and undying hope in a power that remains faceless. Just as religion presses followers to have faith in what they cannot see, a government too can round up millions of supporters if only by providing a mirage of hope.

There’s been a lot of press about Japan here lately, with the line “Think we’ll go to war?” sneaking into more than a few cocktail party conversations. For those who aren’t familiar with the historical relationship between China and Japan, just know that after two Sino-Japanese wars in which Japan invaded China, the “Nanjing Massacre” in 1937 (where Japanese troops raided, killed, and raped Chinese citizens in Nanjing) and WWII, which again brought Chinese troops face to face with Japanese, relations between the two aren’t exactly chipper.

Disputes regarding ownership of islands in the East China Sea are not a recent development— the photo above was taken in Xi’an in 2010 when the entire city mobilized to protest the Japanese claim of the Diaoyu Islands. Recently, protests and marches have again commenced in a number of eastern cities. Smashing Japanese cars is the newest form of protest, which many non-participants (myself included) find somewhat amusing as nearly 80% of cars here are Toyotas…

Still, aside from a few lively uprisings in Xi’an and other youthful cities, the urge to protest has yet to enter the mainstream— I have not personally witnessed any protests or disturbances of any kind (I’ve heard that southern China is more stable in general when it comes to these issues, primarily because the environment and lifestyle is more comfortable than that up north). I would like to share an article from Nanfang Zhoumo(南方周末) , the subject of which I also spotted on the news while riding to work today. The article examines why the word “reason” or “理性” has become the phrase most often used in tandem with news about the protests. It is a word embraced by both the government and people to direct the emotion of citizens during this time of conflict with Japan. According to the logic of most Chinese, animosity towards Japan for its historical wrongdoings is not juvenile by any means— on the contrary, it is a reasonable stance to take in order to defend the national rights of China that have frequently been challenged in the past.

Protest, according to the article, is a “double-edged sword”— all benefits gained are inevitably accompanied by the risk of immense loss. Counter to popular belief, in the case of Japan, the Chinese government does not restrict the voice of the collective populace— instead, it actively responds to their calls. In this age of modern protest, in order to prevent significant loss or harm to society, the collective voice must be expressed in a rational manner, i.e., there should be a complete set of system specifications to guide and direct the pursuit of personal interest and social justice. In the words of the article, “‘Reason’, simply put, at its most minimum standard does not harm the lawful rights and interests of others.” (“理性”，简单地说，其最起码的标准是不损害其他人的合法权益). Yet reaching this standard, in our reality, is easier said than done.

The article goes on to describe an ideal world for protest where demonstrators could unite and express their opinions in public without disturbing urban traffic or interrupting the work and lives of others. The finest “rational” we could imagine would consist of demonstrators processing in prescribed routes with police officers acting as “referees”— there to make a call when necessary but passive to the degree that protesters may not even feel their presence (警察仿佛一场精彩比赛的裁判，他们游弋在最需要他们出现的地方，但却几乎让人感觉不到他们的存在).

Although the ideal of a purely rational world is still a fair distance away, the article champions the high school students in Guangzhou who spontaneously cleared away garbage on the streets and the parade of college students shouting “Rationality!” over and over again for giving us the sense that “reason” is not that far away.

Now for my commentary: I think the terms “rational” and “reason” are extremely dangerous for the ease with which they can be defined or defended subjectively. Any criminal will tell you that his or her actions were “reasonable”, because what is rational for an individual may not be rational for others or for society at large. To have a universal consensus on what comprises “rational” action, every country, every government, every individual would need to stand on some common foundation of beliefs. But one look at the disconnect between facts regarding ownership of the Diaoyu Islands and the notion of common ground feels inconceivable.

Knowing that college students chanted “rationality” does not give me hope that Chinese society is nearing some utopian model of systemized, constructive protest. On the contrary, it brings me back to AP English, 1984, and a world of “doublespeak”.

哦，卖糕– which in Chinese sounds like: oh, mai gao!– something like “Oh my God!”. It’s intentional. There’s no better reason to shout, “哦，卖糕!” than hearing that the Chinese government (or the court, technically, although the two are synonymous) forced a Han Chinese citizen to pay 160,000 RMB to a Xinjiang Uighur who ripped him off….. on cake. The story’s redder than the communist sun painted on the backdrop of China’s eight model operas, and 微博 (Weibo), the Chinese version of Twitter, is about to implode with millions of posts about this “cutting cake” escapade. To top it all off, “哦，卖糕” translates “Oh– sell cake!”… gotta love the brilliance of the Chinese language.

Our story begins with the words: “切糕”, which is now a well known phrase among Chinese for being a kind of synonym for “cheat”, although it literally translates “cut cake”.
The story takes an interesting turn thanks to the role of these guys featured below. They’re Uighurs from Xinjiang province who travel the streets of China selling cake. You may remember the conflict between Han Chinese (who comprise 91.5% of China’s population) and the Uighurs (one of China’s 55 minority groups, comprising only around 1% of the total national population) during the Urumqi Riots in July, 2009.The socioeconomic status of Han Chinese far surpasses that of the Uighurs, contributing to frequent conflicts between the two nationalities that often result in the government stepping in on behalf of one of the two groups. It is precisely this economic strain that encourages Uighurs to sell the densest dessert on the planet (the average cake weighs over 5, 500 pounds!!!) and rip people off in the process.Ask them for a small slice, and you’ll often find yourself with a slop of nuts and sugar costing over $100. While I assumed getting out of the deal would be a piece of cake, my coworkers informed me otherwise. Apparently, if you order a slice and realize it’s far above your budget or that they’ve heartlessly ripped you off in the clumsiest way possible, there’s no way to walk away empty-handed without a few cuts and bruises. These Uighurs are cake-sellers one moment, gang-members the next, and will call over a group of “friends” to put you in your place and put money in their wallet… no matter what. The police can’t control the situation and rarely intervene, save for particularly extreme conflicts, such as the one that occurred three days ago.
The story goes that a man got ripped off, like almost everyone else who tries to buy this cake, and then proceeded to retaliate, destroying the Uighur’s cake and motorcycle in the process. After taking the issue to court, the man was asked to compensate in the form of paying 160,000 rmb to the Uighur, who the government would then send back to Xinjiang. Apparently, damage to the motorcycle and all wounds inflicted accounted for about 40,000 rmb, while the cake that was destroyed would have sold for 160,000. The problem most people have with the court’s ruling is that it assumes the cake is truly worth that much money— about a third of the cost of a car. Moreover, wasn’t it the Uighur who started the feud in the first place by ripping this guy off and sending thugs to beat him up?
The answer lies in the government’s desire to maintain harmony among Han Chinese and ethnic minority groups. Already, ethnic minorities enjoy legal privileges that Han Chinese don’t— such as receiving a boost in 高考 marks when applying for colleges or the right to have more than one child— all in an effort to compensate for any discrimination or disadvantages that they may experience as a minority group. Situations like this with the cake are no different— the government has definite incentives to act on behalf of minority groups to preserve national stability.

To end on a happy note, the meaning of the phrase “切糕” has been transformed within the past few days to indicate great affection between loved ones. It goes something like this, “I would cut the cake for you”.

I’ve been trying to check out articles from one of China’s most famous (and liberal) journals lately, called《南方周末》, based in Guangzhou. The photograph above was featured in a news story I read yesterday, which discussed an international peace conference held at Tsing-hua University earlier this month. The meeting is the first of its kind to be hosted by China and marks an important development in China’s effort to secure international peace.

The article summarized China’s emphasis on supporting global harmony while acknowledging the marked differences between the East and West. What I found most fascinating, however, was a quote from a graduate student of the National University of Singapore’s East Asian Studies program, which concluded the article by stating, “Western culture is like chess–it’s a zero-sum game; Chinese culture, in contrast, is like “Go”–it’s a win-win game. Chinese culture is the world’s only secular culture– it is inclusive, which makes China’s understanding of international relations different from that of Western countries. Chinese people emphasize harmony; they have a tradition of peace.” ( 西方文化是象棋文化，是一种零和游戏；中国文化是围棋文化，相对而言是双赢游戏。“中国文化在世界上是唯一的世俗文化，有一种包容性，使得中国人对国际关系的理解不同与美国等西方国家不同，中国人非常强调和谐，有和平的传统。” http://www.infzm.com/content/78406)

There is typically only one winner in “Go”, which makes it difficult to describe it as a “win-win” game. Still, the student’s analogy is useful in understanding the difference in strategy and approach to conflict between China and Western nations. In “Go”, one’s objective is to claim as much territory as possible, while never directly “attacking” one’s opponent (although one can capture another’s territory by surrounding it). Thus, in “Go”, one is focused primarily on improving oneself–on expanding one’s territory. In contrast, the goal of chess is to eliminate one’s opponent completely–to capture their army and crown.

From the perspective of many Western countries (as evidenced by articles in the New York Times, the Economist, and the Wall Street Journal), China’s economic rise to power illustrates its desire to be the next world superpower–to replace the current position of the United States. If Western culture is like chess, as the Singapore graduate student suggested, the West would assume that China’s goal in international relations is to eliminate its opponent completely. One glance at the headlines of the New York Times would prove that this assumption does exist in the West– that is, we fear China’s rise and see it as a direct threat to our power.

But now let’s consider the situation from China’s perspective. If we continue using the student’s analogy (which has proved reasonably accurate thus far), it’s possible to conclude that China’s goal in economic growth and territorial expansion is pursued benignly or in a relatively non-confrontational manner. If Chinese culture is like “Go”, China will be more interested in improving its own position than in directly threatening the position of its opponent. Of course, in the process of expanding its territory and influence, China will undoubtedly come into contact with its opponent, and may even “capture” its opponent’s territories merely by default of its own vast expansion. But in the end, the mind-set and overall strategy required in “Go”–Chinese culture– is less confrontational and more self-reflective than that in chess– Western culture.

Bottom line: Acknowledging fundamental differences between the perspectives of the East and West is critical in securing future international peace. If we want to accurately predict the actions of our “opponent”, we need to first recognize that we’re currently playing two entirely different games.

From the PRC’s official law on gun regulation: (中华人民共和国枪支管理法)

国家严格管制枪支。禁止任何单位或者个人违反法律规定持有、制造（包括变造、装配）、买卖、运输、出租、出借枪支。

The country strictly regulates firearms— an individual is in violation of the law if he or she possesses, manufactures (including alteration and assembly) trades, transports, rents, or lends a firearm.

I guess this little guy missed the memo😉

Southern China welcomed my parents to its humble shores this past week, leaving them with one critical question among many: Just how many red Chinese lanterns are produced every year for the holiday? I’m waiting for their thick roll of film to be developed into hundreds of fascinating images and lots and lots of red— every hotel, home, and highway are speckled with round paper lights during the New Year. My parents have always fallen into the “adventurous” category, if there was ever reason to sum people up by adjectives, and they continued to prove their endless love for the unknown on this trip, where a sketchy taxi ride, snake shops, and raw fish found their way into my mom’s travel journal and hopefully many future conversations. Thanks for making the trip guys!

Now on to the numbers… here’s a list of stats published recently that may give you a glimpse into what life’s like for the average, decently-educated Chinese citizen over here, according to a reader’s poll conducted by 南方周末. A translation follows below:

45.94% of readers fear that their friends and family will ask about their salary when they return home for the New Year.

65.15% of readers plan to return home to their parents’ house for the New Year.

84.13% of readers don’t know that trains can’t offer meals under ¥15.

78.96% of readers chose to buy train tickets online this year.

47.05% of readers are riding a train home for the New Year.

36.59% of readers plan to watch the New Year Gala on TV this year, even if Zhao Benshan (a popular sitcom actor and director) does not participate in the performance. (There was some conflict between Zhao and the new director of the show this year, leading to Zhao’s refusal to participate.)

88.14% of readers are not optimistic about future policies directed at air pollution.

82.95% of readers do not have a sense of security.

83.04% of readers don’t know how to apply for technical training (for their career) or public employment services provided by the government.

20.05% of readers believe that the biggest change brought about by China’s accession to the WTO is the growth of career opportunities in exporting.

64.75% of readers say that they come into contact with second-hand smoke nearly every day.

70.17% of readers say that today, eating enough is not a problem, but trusting what they eat is still difficult.

72.77% of readers are busy making a living and are rarely concerned with the drafting of legislation.

I’m not sure how many readers participated in the survey… it is good to note that this newspaper is one of the more sophisticated and liberal in China, so readers tend to be well-educated and better-off than average citizens. I have no doubt that the answers are a fairly accurate representation of the general consensus in Chinese society, though how such sentiment will influence future policy is still unknown.

Hongcun

So a bit of editing, but otherwise our trip to Hongcun and my pictures aren’t incredibly exciting. I talked to a kid in our group on the bus ride over to this historic “village” and he told me he was convinced that it was actually a fake village created by the government as communist propaganda. I definitely don’t buy that, but we did have to buy tickets in order to enter (getting to be a trend here) and there were lots of little salesmen looking to rip off foreigners and tourists. Good thing I love to shop so my bargaining skills are rapidly improving! This picture captures the best part of Hongcun, (literally “Red Village”—haha maybe my friend was right about the propaganda) which is that lots of art students come to practice painting the beautiful country landscape. I talked to our tour guide and he said they were all using watercolors, a type of paint not commonly used in China (Chinese painting with ink is most common) but all of their work was quite impressive…as you can see.